Power
by NightingaleNightThief
Summary: Canon Thiefshipping one-shot set during Battle City. Sex. Cursing. Melancholy. I actually put them in character. Enjoy and Review.


**A/N: My OTP babies called to me. I'm not sorry. If you want to blame someone, blame Lorde. Or Tears for Fears. Whichever. They both sang Everybody Wants to Rule the World.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Our lord and savior Kazuki Takahashi does. *bows head* Lorde sang Everybody Wants to Rule the World. Listen to it. Really. Just do it. DO IT.**

* * *

_**Power**_

Marik shoved himself through the rain, feet leaving dents in the sand. They were barely there, like him. They'd be covered soon enough by sand grappling to get to the sea. To the powerful surges of water and waves.

He narrowed his eyes and pushed harder, muscles screaming in pain and fatigue. He couldn't remember where he was going only that he _was. _He couldn't sit still. He'd sat for most of his life, caged like an animal. His arms surged forward and back again with each footfall. It was like a cycle. Breath. Ground. Swing. Breath. Ground. Swing. Breath.

Life itself was a cycle. Constantly restless. Always killing off the old. Always growing out into a bigger shell, a greater scheme of things. It never stopped for anyone. It never asked before it threw the world out of balance once again.

_Welcome to your life._

_There's no turning back._

Life never asked before it gave itself or took itself. It was sort of sadistic, really. The way it gave itself over to those who didn't even want it. The way it didn't ask before it ran from those who did.

Flashes of his father came through. Someone who wanted to live, but life had run. He'd taken life and forced it away. His legs pumped faster.

Flashes of the pharaoh came next. The bastard _should _have died all those thousands of years ago. Life shouldn't make exceptions. Not even for the rich. Not even for the powerful.

Especially not for those.

Images of fire and lighting and misfortune flashed behind his eyes as he grit his teeth against the onslaught of rage. Everything ended humans so fast. A fall. A cough. A broken heart. The weak prayed their lives away, begging not to be taken so soon. They lived quiet lives.

Marik wanted his life to scream.

_Even while we sleep,_

_We'll find you acting on your best behavior._

Marik didn't pray. The gods didn't give a shit about anyone but their precious chosen bitch. You couldn't rely on them for anything. You had to find the god inside, rip him out, and use him. Marik was his own god.

To get to the top, you had to be.

_Turn your back on Mother Nature._

_Everybody wants to rule the world…_

He'd searched for those broken. He'd made himself their god. He'd used them to search, to steal, to destroy.

The other man had been stumbled upon by complete accident. Images of white and garnet flashed before him. A slow smirk grew across his face.

He'd hoped, but he hadn't actually thought the man still lived. He figured he died while the Pharaoh evaded death. But somehow, Bakura had too. He'd not forgotten anything. He'd not shoved away the dark when it whispered to him seductively. He'd reveled in it. His anger, his passion, his hatred. All of them made Marik shudder.

Bakura was a god, too.

Bakura had harnessed anything and everything given to him. He shone with a wicked sort of light. He was dull but bright. He was a ghost but solid. He was a contradiction and the answer.

* * *

_It's my own design,_

_it's my own remorse._

"_If I win, you will rule beside me," Marik's eyes flashed as he regarded the slight male. His hair was longer than a woman's, but he hardly looked feminine. Even if his voice was softer. Somehow it seemed nothing could ever make the man before him look womanly. "And if I fail, I trust you to kill me. Immediately."_

_Bakura's eyes had widened at the request. "And why would you wish for death?"_

"_I have no use for living if my life is not memorable. I won't fade into the background. Is that clear?" Marik tightened his grip on the Rod. His eyes slanted at Bakura, awaiting his answer. _

"_Crystal." His lips turned up slightly._

* * *

And like Bakura used anything given to him, he'd used Marik. Marik didn't mind being used, really. He used Bakura in return. It was a partnership.

In more ways than one.

_Help me to decide_

_Help me make the most of freedom_

_and of pleasure_

It was bound to happen, eventually. They were convenient to each other. They were there and equals. Sexual tension was inevitable, just like the snap that had followed it.

* * *

_Bakura's back hit the wall and he let out a sharp sound, fingers turning to claws against Marik's hips as the Egyptian continued his assault on his shoulders and neck. He wouldn't kiss his mouth. That was too personal. Bakura wasn't a person. Bakura wasn't even really __**alive. **__He wouldn't kiss him._

_He drove his knee between his legs, snorting at the choked off moan he received. Bakura's hands inched up and he gave a warning growl, making the male retreat to his front, fingers teasing his chest. His scars weren't something he wanted touched. Ever._

_Bakura used the wall as leverage and boosted himself against Marik, body taut. Marik gripped his thighs as he leaned into him, not even having to push away his pants. Bakura was all too eager, doing it with his foot. He hooked his toes into the waistband and jerked them down. _

_Marik shifted slightly and freed one hand to guide his way into Bakura. The other let out a low sound of near elation when he felt Marik pushing into him. He reveled in the pain Ryou's virgin walls created when they quivered and tensed around Marik. The other just groaned quietly and pushed in until he was finally seated to the hilt. _

_He didn't wait for some noise of approval or even for the other's body to untense. He just began a frenzied pace, teeth grit and eyes closed in concentration. He felt Bakura running his hands and lips over him. The closest Bakura got was when he let his breath wash over Marik's ear. _

_Bakura had to admit, Marik was good. He knew where to touch, how to do it. He knew where to aim. He knew when to grab Bakura's need and how to stroke it. _

_Bakura didn't release in some show. He just sucked in air and tensed before going totally slack. Marik dug his nails into Bakura's skin and released a shuddering breath against his shoulder. He didn't stand there, he didn't hold Bakura. He let the other drop to the floor as he tucked himself back into his pants. Once he'd snapped the belt back in place, he turned away. He had no desire to admire Bakura any longer, not now. _

"_So you understand, then?" Marik glanced over his shoulder as he grabbed his coat and turned for the door. Bakura looked mildly confused for a moment before his eyes widened in realization. _

"_Perfectly. I can have him beaten in three turns."_

_Marik snorted as he left. "Your arrogance will be the death of you. Again."_

* * *

_Nothing ever lasts forever. _

_Everybody wants to rule the world…_

Marik pushed himself harder then, body fueled by the memory. The rain started to sting his skin but he ignored it. Pain proved he was alive. It etched deep into his soul; proof that he'd lived. Was living. Would live.

If everything went according to plan.

He raised his narrowed eyes, catching a glimpse of light reflecting on pale, wet skin. Bakura lounged on the high wall of a school. He looked perfectly at ease there. He also hadn't noticed Marik. Or if he had, he didn't care enough to change the agonized expression.

Marik wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone so sad. Bakura actually looked his age, then. Marik could see the ancient spirit that dwelled beneath Ryou's youthful exterior and he wondered how he ever missed it. He stopped and stared until Bakura stiffened, feeling eyes on him. He snapped his head toward Marik, expression going smooth again.

Marik shook his head and plugged his headphones back in, legs picking up again. He didn't care to ask what was wrong. He didn't care about Bakura. Bakura was a loose ally, nothing more. Nothing less. A partner, not a lover. A convenience when Marik so wished, and when Bakura was willing.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Bakura was not to be contained or bound. He chose his alliances with the shift of the wind. Whatever pleased him at that time. When it ceased to do so, he left. It was simple. And Marik got that.

It took him a moment to notice Bakura was behind him. He felt more than saw anything. The ground pulsed with a second set of footfalls. Bakura caught up smoothly, graceful as ever. He didn't try to exceed Marik's stride, though he felt that he could. He didn't face him either, nor did he try to speak. What was there to say?

Nothing. Marik didn't want to hear him, until he did. But until he did, and until Bakura wanted to hear him, they kept silent. They ran in sync, though Marik's breaths were more labored. Bakura didn't even look like he was running to Marik. It was like his feet never hit the ground. His body never jerked. He never panted.

Marik wondered why he was even running. The look in his eyes didn't give anything away. He didn't show any sign of doing it just to be around Marik. He didn't reveal… anything. Marik glanced away when Bakura looked up at him.

It was a show of loyalty.

Marik pushed himself harder and Bakura kept pace with him. It was like he knew when Marik would slow down or speed up before he did. But he never tried to exceed him, nor did he fall behind.

_There's a room where the light won't find you,_

_holding hands while the walls come tumbling down…_

_When they do, I'll be right behind you,_

_so glad we've almost made it…_

Bakura looked forward again, not getting drawn in by those cobra-like eyes. They were beautiful to look at, like Marik. But he knew if he dared to try and pick at the walls Marik had built around himself, he would be crushed. He was poisonous.

He knew he'd end up leaving soon. All he wanted was the Rod, he didn't much care about the world. And that was if Marik won. Well, if he lost, he'd definitely leave. Marik would be dead.

So any loyalty Bakura showed was, in a sense, false. Loyalty lasted through the years. But Marik would only last so many more years. Maybe. Life was unpredictable like that. Marik could be shot now, and that would be that.

_So sad we had to fake it…_

_everybody wants to rule the world, _

_everybody wants to rule the world…_

Bakura closed his eyes and kept pace, though he knew in the end he'd push ahead. He'd surpass the entire generation, and the one after. Until the world ended; if it ended. He didn't believe in a god. He didn't believe in much of anything. He just was. Like Marik.

They just were. Until one of them wouldn't be.

_Everybody wants to rule the world, _

_Everybody wants to rule the world…_

* * *

**A/N: Oh. That was canon. What. CANON PERSONALITIES?! I am capable. It was sort of melancholy but I blame a sad thief pic I saw. And really, Bakura would have outlasted Marik by, you know, FOREVER. So there's that. Do review? **

**~Nightingale. **


End file.
